


Stress Relief

by RedSnowWhite



Series: Writing Prompts, Terribly Misused [9]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Gaping, Anal Sex, Consensual Sex, Creampie, Light Sadism, M/M, Masochism, Office Sex, Orgasm Delay, Overstimulation, Painful Sex, Penis Size, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn With Plot, Rimming, Stranger Sex, Stuck in a wall, insufficient prep, lots of lube
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-25
Updated: 2020-12-06
Packaged: 2021-03-09 02:48:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,408
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27196730
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RedSnowWhite/pseuds/RedSnowWhite
Summary: Xavier is trying to go up the corporate ladder. That means long meetings, projects with approaching deadlines, and a lot of overtime. He isn't certain if he's more stressed, exhausted, or tired of the monotony of it all. And on top of that, he's not getting any.Then one day, he finds a suspicious e-mail in his work inbox. Attached, is a picture of an ass sticking out of a wall, and a set of coordinates.Could it be real?Technically, this belongs to a series. But it's standalone.
Relationships: Original Male Character/Original Male Character
Series: Writing Prompts, Terribly Misused [9]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1955464
Comments: 23
Kudos: 174
Collections: Prose From the Abyss





	1. Who's Behind That Wall?

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt: The Love Letter
> 
> This is set in the same universe as **Desperate Love** but you don't need to read it to understand this. They’re both standalone. 
> 
> For now. 
> 
> (Because this was supposed to be a one-shot. So....)

A pendrive lands with a clatter on Xavier’s desk. He startles and turns around.

“We have a new potential client,” says his boss. “The data’s there. Prepare me an offer.”

Xavier stares vacantly at the tall, impeccably dressed man. His boss raises a trimmed eyebrow at him.

“Due Monday,” the bastard says, then turns around and leaves.

Xavier ogles the sleek cut of his boss’ suit that emphasizes the narrow waist and a pert butt and despairs.

Fuck. It’s fucking Friday afternoon.

From behind, he hears Johan, his fellow inmate in this corporate prison, roll towards him on an office chair.

“Aaaand here I thought I’ll finally talk you into going clubbing with us,” Johan says.

Double fuck.

Johan is broad, blond, and freckled. His smile is so white and full and blinding that at least once it must’ve killed some poor random pedestrian who was exposed to it with no warning. Some time ago, Xavier already refused a similar invitation - stupid, stupid, stupid, so what if clubbing wasn’t really his thing - and since then has been eagerly waiting for his second chance. He’s been waiting for _ages_.

He groans and waves the damn pendrive in front of Johan’s blue, blue eyes. “Sorry, man. Seems I just got sentenced to overtime.”

Johan leans back on the chair, his pale neck stretched deliciously. There’re freckles there, too. “Andy from accounting agreed to come, you know,” he says.

Andy is this cute, diligent-looking man that seems all proper all the time. Xavier’s genuinely surprised. “Oh. I didn’t know he was gay.”

Johan laughs. “Oh, he’s gay all right. You know Simmons from HR, the manager?”

“Adam Simmons? The cold fucker they call Mr. Iceberg?”

“Yup. The very same one. I think they’re dating.”

“No way. A marshmallow like Andy is way too good for Simmons!”

Johan laughs again. “I won’t be disagreeing with you there.”

Life is so unfair, Xavier thinks. Every time you find out about a good one he’s already taken.

“Damn, but McNair is an ass, to do this to you on a Friday,” Johan mutters as he’s rolling his chair back to his own desk.

Xavier can’t help but second that opinion with his whole heart, especially after he plugs in the drive and an upsettingly full folder springs up at him. Daniel fucking McNair _is_ an ass. This is going to take _hours_. Xavier drops his head and lets his forehead hit the desk, repeats the action a few more times for good measure, then delves into it.

He’s never going to finish if he doesn’t start.

He works. At some point, people start leaving. He says goodbye to Johan, then to Jacqueline and Penelope who occupy the desks in front of his. He ignores Jack, the bigoted asshat, and Jack ignores him back. He sees McNair head towards the door, and he glares at the bastard. McNair looks up at him and Xavier hastily glues his eyes back to the computer screen. White rows full of numbers mock him.

Soon, there’s only him, Dower The Overachiever, and countless empty desks left in the open space of the office. At long last, even Dower leaves and Xavier is alone in the vast room and it’s eerie. He rubs at his eyes. He’s almost done.

There’s a ping of an incoming e-mail.

Oh, for fuck’s sake!

He stares at the screen. The notification blinks at him.

He can ignore it, right?

But he knows he can’t fucking ignore it.

A management position opened a week ago a step above him on the corporate ladder, a position that could take him out of the crowded common room. So what if he has to pretend to be McNair’s private assistant, he can deal with bloody McNair’s bloody fitted suits and annoyingly pretty manicured hands and demanding perky ass, in exchange for a cozy office of his own and a substantial increase in salary.

He only needs to put in the work. It’s not as if he has a social life to sacrifice or anything.

The e-mail was sent from one of the company’s official addresses. Xavier hasn’t the faintest what it’s about.

He opens the damn thing.

_“Basement -2 lvl, turn left at the end of the corridor, then right, 3rd door,”_ it says.

What the fuck.

There’s a picture attached. He clicks it.

What the actual fuck.

A pale hairless ass winks at him with a pink hole. It’s mounted in the middle of a nondescript wall. Under it hang a set of equally pale balls and a hard cock.

Xavier looks around - he’s still alone - then zooms in on the photo. It’s pretty crisp. The skin looks silky; like it was depilated rather than shaved.

Ouch.

On the other hand, though. It must feel amazing to the touch.

_“Basement -2 lvl, turn...”_

...is this for real?

No way, right?

He closes the window; goes back to work.

And pretends he isn’t hard, like, at all.

It can’t be real. It must be some sort of joke. Maybe Jack The Asshat and his asshat buddies sent it to Xavier, to catch him somewhere no one’s going to look for him for two whole days. The point is, he really shouldn’t go there, no matter how curious (and overworked and stressed and sexually frustrated) he is.

He finishes and emails the stupid offer to McNair, then turns off his laptop and cleans his desk. He’s going home.

He leaves the office and turns off the lights, heads for the elevator. He waits a bit, gets in, and stares at the glowing buttons.

He’s going home, dammit!

He presses the one labeled (-2).

Fuck.

The way down feels too short. The elevator’s door ping and open into a badly lit corridor. It’s quiet. Empty. Xavier, understandably wary, goes in, then left, then right, as per the instruction.

The door is there, as promised. He pulls at the handle.

It’s locked.

So it is a joke, after all.

He knows it’s stupid of him to feel this way but he’s disappointed.

Damn, this is embarrassing.

It would’ve been nice, okay? To finally fuck something other than his own hand.

He grits his teeth and almost turns around to leave but his eyes fall on a glowing control panel on the wall. No way, right?

He scans his employee card. The door clicks open.

He pulls at the handle again but stops.

He’s going to feel even more stupid if there’s nothing in there.

Only one way to find out.

The wall directly opposite the door is smooth and disappointingly ass-free. It seems some sort of renovation is going on here. The air smells faintly of dust and old paint. Cables hang from the ceiling, the tiles that normally cover them are missing. There are some debris and tools on the floor. Three old chairs stand in a corner. An abandoned ladder is propped up against the wall by the door, and there’s a big cabinet on the adjacent wall.

No asses.

He goes in anyway.

The blue of the walls matches the photo.

Three steps in and - no way oh fuck - there it is, hidden from immediate discovery by that big cabinet.

A pale ass sticking out from a hole in the blue plaster.

Xavier steps closer, all flushed hot and breath racing, and puts a shaky hand on one of the buttocks. The flesh spasms under his touch and - oh - it’s warm and real and silky smooth.

The hole is padded with some sort of foam - seems whoever it is doesn’t want scratches on that perfect skin. He runs a finger over the edge, and goosebumps cover the creamy flesh. He probes the space between the skin and the lining, and there’s barely any give, it’s so snug in there.

It’s sticking out of the wall far and nice, and he wonders how this is possible, what is the man on the other side leaning or lying on to achieve this effect. Because he must be lying on something, there’s no way his legs are touching the floor, knees together and bent enough to push his ass out like this.

Xavier moves forward, lets his pants brush it - the muscles clench - and wow, the height is exactly right.

He kneels down, to examine the pretty thing better.

As he suspected, not a single hair in sight, not even a sign there ever were any. He runs his palms over the smooth skin. Does the man do this to his entire body? He grips the buttocks and pulls them apart - not that he couldn’t already see the hole, the position itself ensures it’s on display and accessible; he does it to feel the weight and give of the muscles. It isn’t one of those unappealing asses, flat and bony. The buttocks are firm and pronounced, there’s a nice amount of flesh on them, all of it perfectly squeezable.

In between those buttocks, there’s a treasure. It’s slippery and pale pink - Xavier thought pink holes only happened on porn sites, with generous help from Photoshop - but closed tightly. He rubs a fingertip over it and it flexes. He pushes in his middle finger, all the way, moves it in and out. Smooth, wet, and impossibly tight. Seems like the guy lubed himself up generously but otherwise didn’t prep.

While he pumps his finger into the hole, Xavier caresses the balls with his other hand. The skin there is so delicate it’s unbelievable - everything about this is unbelievable - and they tighten under his touch. He rolls them in his palm, pulls on them - they’re all his to play with. His knuckles brush against the hot cock. It’s so hard it’s pointing straight ahead; its tip has painted a darker wet spot on the blue wall.

He moves in with a second finger. God, but that ass has a grip.

Very inconsiderate of its owner, though. To not do this himself beforehand. Maybe he needs a lesson.

Heat spills over Xavier’s face and chest at the thought.

He stands up and, not removing his fingers from the wet hole, opens his pants with his other hand; he takes out his cock with a relieved sigh. It looks enormous next to his digits pumping in and out of the stranger’s ass. Excitement warms his belly, and his head swims; it’s almost like he has a fever.

To say Xavier’s penis is big is an understatement. It’s a source of both pride and annoyance for him because not many can take it without an excessive amount of preparation. And he’s considerate to his lovers, he really is. But at the same time, there’s a dirty, awful part of him that enjoys the pained grunts and moans, the idea that he’s so big they have trouble taking him. He’s never voiced it out loud, is ashamed of it - you’re not supposed to be mean to your lovers, and even more, you aren’t supposed to _like it_. So, to counteract this thing in himself that he considers a flaw, he always takes painstaking care to prepare his partners. But it doesn’t change the fact that this immoral need is still buried in him, somewhere deep.

Never before has he been in a situation where he could just let go and enjoy himself without consequence. Where it was implied that this sort of thing was _expected_ of him. After all, the owner of this pretty ass didn’t prep himself _for a reason_.

Still, Xavier is not a complete bastard. He doesn’t enjoy _hurting_ people, like, for real. So he pushes in the third finger and lets his hard cock lean against the smooth buttock beside his hand. The contrast in skin color - pale cream and olive - is intense. Even more shocking is the discrepancy in size between it and his three fingers. 

He’s a big man, almost six point four, but it still doesn’t prepare people for the sight of his cock. Well, the length _is_ proportional, that’s the part they expect. It’s the grit that gives people pause. Most men think the bigger penis you have, the better. But that’s probably because they’ve never had to talk a lover into letting them push something as thick as a fucking _beer can_ into said lover’s ass.

Three fingers are never going to be enough.

Tough luck. Because that’s exactly how many this pink hole is getting.

It’s going to be _so tight_.

He impatiently rubs his cockhead against silky warmth. There’s cotton in his head. The sharp scent of pre-cum fills his sinuses, and the fever of arousal boils in his blood. He can’t wait anymore, he has to get inside, he has to. He takes his fingers out, grips his cockhead, tries to press it in. He struggles, the ring of muscles fights him but he doesn’t stop. He’s going _into_ that ass, dammit!

He pops in.

It surprises him but it’s nothing compared to the ass’ owner. The buttocks flex around him, the body shifts forward in the opening, pulling his cock with it. For a moment, he fears the guy will balk - and Xavier wouldn’t blame him; he knows his cock is _a lot_ even with proper prep - but then the ass stills. So the guy’s staying, wow, he’s actually staying.

Xavier leans his forehead on the wall and looks down; watches tiny beads of perspiration build on the ivory skin; contemplates in pure fascination the place where the tip of his cock is embedded in pale, tense flesh, like a thick dark spear ready to pierce it to its very core. 

Has the man he’s fucking got used to the stretch yet?

Is that even possible at this point? To get used to it?

Fuck, it’s so tight. The rest of Xavier’s cock aches with need. He wants to sink in. He needs to. Has it been enough time yet? The guy won’t run away _now_ , right?

He takes a deep, shaky breath.

He’s going to do it.

Fuck, he’s going to do it.

Slow and steady.

Right.

Slow. Steady.

He slams in.

There’s a muffled scream.

Holy…!

So that’s how it feels - to shove the most vulnerable part of yourself into a narrow tunnel of molten lava. Heated pleasure enters him through his cock in waves; saturates his groin, his belly, the rest of his body. It’s on the verge of too much.

Oh God Almighty. He’s going to hell for this. 

He’ll gladly go to hell for this. 

And - the miracle of miracles - the ass is still there, firmly lodged in the hole in the blue plaster. Its owner didn’t shy away from the brutal penetration. 

Maybe it’s shock. 

He starts thrusting, fast and deep.

Because it must hurt. He can hear unidentifiable sounds coming from behind the wall, something between moans and whines and screams. 

He fucks it, fucks it, gives those sounds a nice even rhythm.

A compressed, hidden box in him opens and spills over. 

He’s going to get his fill before the man on the other side comes to his senses.

He never felt like this before, all frenzied and uncaring and me, me, me, mine. This slick narrow hole is his to take, his to use, his to fuck. He was presented with it, invited into it, and so he’s going to enjoy it. Damn, so tight. He’s almost all the way in now, there’s some resistance as he shoves in, to the bottom, and he’s familiar with this troublesome phenomenon. This hole is just too shallow to take all of it, all of him, most asses are. 

Usually, he asks nicely before he does what he’s about to do.

He stabs in then probes the depths, right and left, more left, left, then in small circles. He knows the rectum bends there, becomes something else. He keeps pressing, pressing, pressing— 

Sinks in.

Wow, he’s in!

It’s all heat and slippery silk and pulsing muscles, the most wondrous vise. Fuck, he could die like this. He almost collapses against the wall, it’s so intense. The warm, smooth buttocks touch his hips, his balls rest on a soft pillow of another set, the root of his cock has a living cock-ring squeezing it in pulses. The tension leaves his body in a wave; all the stress he accumulated in recent months suddenly just — gone.

And he hasn’t even cum yet.

A part of his brain that hasn’t fully transformed into mush registers that no sounds are coming from behind the wall anymore. He’s concerned, maybe? Everything is sort of far away right now. 

Another part of him notices the flesh under his hips quakes and spasms in the same uneven rhythm he’s feeling all around his cock.

Did the guy just… cum?

Oh fuck. Did he just cum, from Xavier shoving a cock down his intestine? That… has never happened to Xavier before. Holy hell. He can’t believe it. He’s just been careless and mean and the worst possible version of himself, and another person enjoyed it to the point of orgasm. Oh God. He doesn’t care who’s on the other side; he wants to _marry_ this ass.

His hips disconnect from his conscious will and surge back and forth on their own accord. In out, in out, in out. He’s moving fast, in short jabs. He’s trying to open this ass deep inside. 

Then, he’s going to fuck it like it deserves to be fucked.

The whining returns and the ass starts to squirm in the hole but doesn’t retreat. In fact, it seems to push back into it.

“Oh, you like it, you slut, you fucking like it.” Filth spills from Xavier’s mouth in gasps and mumbles, and he doesn’t care. “You just came, and you still like it, slut, slut, fucking slut, I didn’t even touch your cock, you’re so hungry for it, fuck, you love it, you love my cock, don’t you, does it hurt, it must hurt, you’re so tight, I’m gonna open you up, fuck you so hard this hole won’t close anymore, take it, take it, take it…”

His thrusts are getting longer; they’re sliding through the entire length of the hot tunnel now. He almost pops out, then goes deep, then deeper still - nothing stops him now, he _has_ opened it really good. He braces himself against the wall, against the floor, and gives it his all. His shirt is drenched through with sweat but he doesn’t register it; he’s too focused on forcing his hips to piston fast, faster. He’s going to cum, oh God, he’s going to cum harder than he’s ever came in his life.

He fucks in. Deep. The hole grips him and he pulses and it grips him and he pours the contents of his brain out through his cock, and it grips him, and he spills and spills and spills his entire life out and it lasts fucking forever.

He literally collapses on the floor when he’s done, crumbles like a giant doll with strings cut.

It’s right there, in front of his eyes. No longer tight and pale and pink. Red. Gaping wide. With his seed spilling out of it and running down the perineum, the balls, dripping on the floor.

Did he really cum this much? How the hell did his balls manage to hold it all in?

He dips a curious finger in it. The hole tries to hug his digit and fails. It can’t close all the way and Xavier blushes, pleased warmth spreading in his belly.

It’s so well used.

Fuck, it’s all his fault. Or, accomplishment. Anyway, he’s the one who did this. He destroyed someone’s asshole.

And someone let him.

Who the hell _is_ this guy? How do you ask a disembodied ass for a phone number?

And oh, the guy’s still hard. Or hard again, Xavier guesses, fidgeting on the floor at the memory of that first hands-free orgasm. The evidence it happened is still dribbling down the wall. He runs his palm, wet with his own spunk, over the silky smooth balls and straining cock. He gives it a good long stroke. The foamy material that lines the hole in the wall squeaks as the ass squirms.

“You like it, hmmm?” he says, deliberately loud.

It squirms some more.

Seriously, what a pretty thing.

He pushes two fingers of his other hand into the hole - now there’s barely any resistance - digs for a moment, then finds the right place. He curves his fingers into a hook and starts tormenting it with commitment. It must be a lot because the ass withdraws deeper into the wall. But then it stops. Trembles, but stops. Then it pushes back towards him like an offering, like a plea.

Fuck, but the guy wants it.

“Yeah, just like that. Don’t run away. Take it.”

Xavier moves both of his hands at the same speed. He quickly notices the asshole tightens on his fingers more when he’s at the tip of the pale cock, so he gives it some special attention. The cock is lovely, so hot and pink with blood. With smooth, thin, sensitive skin stretched taut over it. It fits nicely in Xavier’s palm, neither small nor big, just the right size really. He can comfortably close his fingers around it to pleasure it. He would bet a month’s salary that it would’ve fit nicely in his mouth, too. He imagines its weight on his tongue, the temperature, the taste.

He gets lost in the repetitive movement. He doesn’t pay attention to the dirty floor he’s sitting on and his rumpled sweat-soaked clothes, there’s only a pretty cock dancing in the palm of his hand and a wet, warm hole straining to close around his fingers. It’s all so peaceful; he could do this for hours. He’s got his pleasure, and now he’s ready to give pleasure back.

He doesn’t have hours, though. This cock is going to erupt soon. He could stop, then wait a minute, then start again. Keep it on the edge. But he doesn’t think this is what the cock’s owner wants right now. You put your ass in a wall if you crave some hard fucking and quick release; you don’t do it to string the tension higher. So Xavier doesn’t stop when the pale balls draw in and wrinkle, when the lovely cock pulses and spills in his hand and the ass finally manages to squeeze his fingers with some semblance of strength. He helps the guy through it, wrings him nice and dry. He only stops when the guy starts to squirm, probably oversensitive.

He leans back on his hands, satisfied with a job well done.

Then stares some more.

The prettiest wall art he’s ever seen.

His reverie gets interrupted when the ass disappears from the hole. He scurries forward, desperately trying to see through the opening; there’s a glimpse of light, then something blocks it. It’s heavy, some sort of furniture, but he still tries to push it away. It doesn’t budge. 

The corridor.

He gets to his feet in a frenzy, barely remembers to tuck in his cock, reaches the door, forgets the key-card. It doesn’t open because he needs to use the bloody key-card. It clicks. He stumbles into the corridor, looks around.

There’s no one there.

What?

How?

He looks for the door to the other room that should be there but isn’t.

How is this…?

Then, he remembers.

Johan told him about it, once. How messed up the layout was on the lowest levels. About corridors that lead nowhere useful, rooms that open up into confusing spaces. You practically had to have a map to find your way down here - that’s why it was getting renovated, finally.

Which means, whoever it was, he’s probably long gone.

Fuck.

Fucking fuck!

Life is so fucking unfair.

You finally find someone good, and then they just vanish without a trace.

Xavier clenches his fists and grinds his teeth.

No fucking way is he going to let it end like this.

That’s right.

He’s going to find out who that adventurous ass and lovely cock belong to even if it kills him.


	2. Investigating

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Xavier waits for another "invitation" with bated breath. In the meantime, he investigates.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry guys. Plot happened, and you have to read through it first to get to the porn at the end. 
> 
> It's pretty good porn, though.

On Monday, Xavier can’t find the bloody email.

“Johan,” he says over his shoulder. “I’ve got an email last week, and now it’s not there. How is it possible?”

As usual, Johan rolls towards him on his chair. “You sure you didn’t just delete it?” 

“One hundred percent. Could’ve someone else done it?”

Johan frowns. “You can’t just delete someone else’s emails.”

Penelope’s mane of curly black hair sticks out from behind the monitors in front of Xavier, then her face follows. “Actually, you can,” she says. “What, my husband’s in IT. For example, someone could’ve gotten your password somehow, logged into your computer, then deleted it.”

“I take my laptop home with me.”

“Then,” she says, “that means it somehow disappeared from the server, I don’t know, maybe it got categorized as spasm. But the sender would have a copy. Just ask them to resend it to you.”

“But that’s just it. I have no idea who sent it, it was from one of our public addresses. I thought…. I mean, I think it was a prank, there were some… well… pictures, attached.”

“Still should be on our server,” Penelope says. “What kind of pictures?”

“Well.” How could he even. “The stupid kind.”

That picks Johan’s interest. “The kind that could get someone fired?”

Xavier panics a bit inside but shrugs. “I guess. Can you get an email disappear from the server, like, entirely?”

Penelope hesitates. “Maybe, since it was sent internally. If you had the admin access and really knew what you were doing. It’s not that easy to delete stuff without a trace, though. Something may still be left behind, even if it’s only the info that the email existed.”

“You can ask the IT guys,” Johan suggests. “There’s that really cute one who started last month.”

Jacqueline’s head pops out beside Penelope’s. “Oh, come on, Johan. Probably they’re the ones who did it. I mean, who else? They do have access, and their whole blasted job is to know this stuff.”

“One of them might have done it, I guess,” Penelope says. “But it’s not like there’s some sort of conspiracy there to delete prank emails, so the other IT people can still help. Well, unless Xavier is unlucky and ends up asking the prep.”

After their lunch break, Xavier and Johan go to the IT department. Xavier can’t help but eye the employees. 

Too old. Wrong skin color. Flat ass. Wrong. Wrong. That man doesn’t even shave his face — he’s probably hairy all over. Hips too wide.

Johan nudges him and murmurs without moving his lips, “that’s the one I told you about.” 

Xavier follows his line of sight.

The guy is young and pale, with striking ginger hair, clean-shaven. Unlike most of the men and women in the room, who clearly don’t care about the company’s dress code, he wears a dress shirt and pants. He’s decidedly shorter than Xavier and moves like he’s a bit unsure of himself. 

Could be the one.

“Let’s—” Johan starts in the guy’s direction, but Xavier forcibly steers them towards a woman in the corner instead.

“You’re much too shy for your own good,” Johan complains under his breath.

Xavier scowls.

Oh, bloody great. Johan already thinks he’s a lost cause in desperate need of intervention; let’s reinforce those assumptions.

Well, nothing for it. This is more important.

Xavier explains his problem, while studiously avoiding any mentions about the nature of the email in question. The woman begins typing something into strangely organized windows, and a thought strikes him.

Oh fuck, oh fuck, what if she actually finds it?! Getting the wonderful ass’ owner in trouble is the last thing he wants!

He starts sweating; tries not to fidget, and evidently doesn’t succeed, because Johan keeps throwing him these looks. Xavier avoids his eyes and instead covertly observes the cute ginger guy.

Who either really doesn’t pay them any attention, or is that good of an actor.

“This is strange,” the woman says after some ten minutes of furious typing and clicking. “When did you say you’d last seen this email?”

“Friday, about nine PM? I got it maybe at eight.”

“Nothing from that time, and the server logs are missing. What the… I’ll have to check the backup copy.” 

Fuck, there’s a backup copy.

Xavier barely stops himself from squirming. 

Coming here was a mistake.

After another while, the woman leans back in her chair. “No luck. Backup’s set up every six hours on that one, means six PM and midnight. Must’ve just missed your message. But this is really weird. Hey, Forty, Bart!” she yells, “we have a situation here!”

Xavier has to explain what happened again, to two other IT guys. Then, they get shooed out of the room by a bunch of agitated people — deleting emails off company servers turns out to be a big deal that has the entire IT department in an uproar.

Just as they’re leaving, the ginger guy passes them by and Xavier gets an idea.

“Hey, do you have plans for the basement floors somewhere?” he asks and watches for a reaction.

The guy blushes and stares at Xavier for a moment, but then says, “sure. You want them printed? I… I can bring them to you, in a bit? You’re from marketing, right?”

Xavier nods and thanks him, and ignores Johan’s grin all the way to their desks.

Inconclusive, he decides. 

He gets the plans just as it’s time to go home. The ginger guy’s name is Mark. He likes spicy Indian food and the old Star Wars movies. Xavier, who’s dad made him watch all Star Trek seasons that one summer, gets into a lively debate with him about one fictional universe’s merits over the other. Somehow, they agree to continue talking over dinner and are just about to leave when McNair shows up.

“That client from Friday, they changed their mind on points two and six.”

Xavier takes a deep breath. “How long do we have?”

“In theory? Till morning. But I can stall for a few hours, so the accounting and our legal team can have a look at it.”

Xavier sends Mark an apologetic smile. “Sorry,” he says. “Maybe tomorrow?”

“Ah, OK.” Mark gets shy all over again. Damn. He circles McNair — like the bastard is some sort of wild animal — and leaves quickly. 

Seriously, it’s not like the man is all that terrifying. He may be the confident CEO, but he’s slim and elegant, and much too withdrawn to warrant such a visceral reaction. Physically, Xavier is ten times as intimidating, and not once did Mark react to him this way.

Xavier swallows a sigh. He sits down, sweeps the printouts Mark brought him off his desk and into a drawer, then turns his laptop back on. McNair hovers over his shoulder as Xavier searches for the relevant files. 

“Here and here,” McNair points. He’s leaning over the back of Xavier’s chair, and Xavier turns his head a bit; that cologne must be bloody expensive.

McNair stiffness and moves away, and Xavier is mortified. Fuck his overactive libido and McNair’s fucking expensive cologne. He stares ahead without moving a muscle.

Is this slip-up going to cost him the promotion? 

But McNair doesn’t say anything. The uncomfortable moment passes, and he drags Johan’s chair to Xavier’s desk, sits down, and starts explaining the offer situation. 

Uff, that was close. McNair may not be scary, but he’s still Xavier’s boss. It could get really awkward, especially since Xavier isn’t sure what is McNair’s personal opinion on him being gay. Officially, the company is all tolerant and inclusive, but privately McNair could be even more bigoted than that fucker Jack. Xavier doesn’t get that vibe from him, but he isn’t going to hang the future of his career on a gut feeling.

They discuss the offer in detail, then McNair leaves Xavier to finish the thing. It doesn’t take long, but when he’s finally done, he’s again the last one in the office. On the one hand, it’s annoying. On the other, though.

He takes out those plans, and it really _is_ a mess, just like Johan said. It takes him a moment to locate the room; the adjacent one opens into a narrow parallel corridor, which does a weird twist, then joins the main corridor near the elevators. There’s also a staircase — an alternate way out — but, now that he knows the layout, he should be able to intercept the guy before he escapes. If he’s fast enough, that is.

And if the guy invites him into his ass again.

Xavier frowns.

Right. No guarantee that’s ever going to happen.

Still, when he’s leaving, he can’t stop himself from pressing the (-2) button on the elevator’s wall. First, he goes to the room he was in before. Everything looks the same. Except the padding that kept his mysterious lover’s skin from getting scratched is not there, the plaster under the hole is a discolored stain, and on the floor, there’s a clean patch of tiles where all the cum should’ve been.

This, Xavier unexpectedly finds amusing.

Someone is meticulous.

Done with his examination, he goes to the room behind the wall.

It’s in a similar state of mid-renovation disarray, if a tad less dusty. There is also more furniture: some cabinets and chairs, and a desk.

The hole is conspicuously missing.

But wait. The desk, why is it placed like that, with a cabinet between it and the wall? He tries the cabinet, and it — rolls away.

It has wheels.

Oh. So that’s how he did it. He lay on the desk, got that magnificent ass in the opening, and when they were done, he just pulled the wheeled cabinet between the heavy desk and the wall — that’s how he could do it so quickly, and also why Xavier couldn’t push it away from the other side.

We’re a smartass, aren’t we. Meticulous, prepared for everything smartass, with a shapely butt, very tight hole, and a gorgeous cock. 

Damn.

It has to happen again; it _has_ to. God, please, Xavier doesn’t know what he’ll do if it doesn’t.

Probably something very stupid.

The rest of the week drags on, one excruciatingly long day at a time. Mark is avoiding him, which is suspicious but, again, inconclusive. Xavier checks his mail every other minute, but there’s nothing. He is so down Johan notices and calls him out on it; he wants to take Xavier on a wild de-stressing adventure Friday night, but Xavier tells him he’s behind on work. Because, what if it happens on a Friday, like last time, and also because it is true — the entire week he couldn’t concentrate for five minutes straight.

On Friday, he stays late. And then later, until absolutely everyone is gone. At eight, he isn’t sure if he’s more pissed at himself for wasting another invitation from Johan, or upset that he might not see the mysterious guy ever again, and he decides to call it. It’s so bloody stupid, to get so fucking invested in something that was probably nothing but a one-off miracle. It’s possible the guy only needed to get it out of his system; maybe he regrets it.

Or maybe he didn’t even like it. Xavier was pretty hard on him, after all. He doesn’t think he hurt him, and the guy came twice, but that doesn’t automatically have to make it an experience the mysterious man is willing to repeat. 

So maybe that’s just — it.

He’s about to turn his computer off when an email icon pops up. Xavier opens it with shaking hands.

“ _Same place_ ,” it reads.

Xavier stares at it, and his heart is pumping blood so fast he sways on his feet. The same nondescript address, and no pictures this time, but there’s nothing else this could be.

Fuck.

He’s hard.

He packs up in a daze. Then he blinks and — with no recollection of how he got there — he’s sweeping his employee card over the panel beside that door.

The door with the ass — not the one which has the rest of the ass’ owner in it.

He thought a lot about it over the week, what he’ll do if this happens again. He could confront the guy immediately. But there’s no telling how the stranger will react; what if he gets scared and doesn’t want to have anything to do with Xavier ever again? If not, what if he wants nothing but a few anonymous fucks? Or maybe he’s doing it this way instead of openly because he only likes Xavier as a body, and not as a person?

Better to live the fantasy while he still can. There will be plenty of time for consequences after.

The door clicks closed behind him, and he takes those last few steps with a wildly beating heart. And oh God, yes! Yes, it’s there, and it’s going to be his again. Relief makes Xavier’s knees buckle — right in front of it. 

So fucking pretty. He doesn’t think, just goes for it, and greets his mysterious lover with a very deep kiss. The buttocks spasm around his face and the ass flexes into the wall, but Xavier chases it relentlessly, delighted. The lube has a nice minty flavor he approves of, but more importantly, the hole is so tight he has to work his tongue into it. 

The guy didn’t prep. Again. After the last time, after Xavier destroyed him so thoroughly, the guy still didn’t prep.

The ass keeps slipping off Xavier’s tongue, then pushing back into his face, so Xavier grabs the soft balls, and squeezes just enough to still it. Through the white noise in his ears, he can hear muffled moans. He sucks and licks and stabs — until the balls in the palm of his hand tighten. 

He moves back, panting.

The flesh in front of him twitches; that beautiful cock pulses and leaks, but it’s still only pre-cum. Xavier licks his lips and lets the dark warmth rise inside him. This ass wants his darkness, his mean side; it came back for more. And soon. Soon, Xavier will give it his all. But first, he’s going to do what he forgo last time, in favor of getting the man off; he’s going to heat it up.

There’s just a hint of hip bone at the edge of the wall, a tight crease of flesh pressing against flesh just below it. Xavier dips his finger in the ass to lube it up, then wiggles it into that crease, rubs the delicate skin there, in a lewd yet unsatisfying imitation of fucking. With his other hand, he reaches below and lightly runs his fingernails over the skin of the guy’s inner thighs, his knuckles brushing the straining cock from time to time. He nuzzles the smooth buttock with his cheek as he waits for the guy to calm down a bit. And when the pre-orgasm jolts cease, Xavier goes between those gorgeous globes again.

This time, he doesn’t hurry. Usually, he only does it if his lovers insist, but this man is so well-groomed and clean, it’s like french-kissing a pair of really full, really well-muscled lips. They open under his tongue greedily, entice him deeper. It’s so hypnotizing Xavier almost misses the tensing of an incoming release, and only barely manages to back away.

He stares as the tiny wet gap opens and closes in desperation. His own belly aches with heat, low and deep. He opens his pants to ease the pressure. Waits.

He goes for the balls next; sucks one into his mouth, then the other. The position is uncomfortable, his neck cranked all the way back, thighs straining to open wider so he can get close enough to the wall, but it’s worth it. The impossibly tender skin under his tongue and the harder yet equally delicate core between his lips feel amazing — he must be developing an oral fixation. The man’s sounds are louder, too, now that Xavier is this close to the hole in the plaster.

There’s space there, above the hard cock and between the man’s tights, and Xavier reaches into it; he can stroke the tense stomach up to the bellybutton. The guy he’s pleasuring isn’t terribly muscular, but what flesh Xavier can touch hints at a slim waist. 

The wet heat of a dancing cock slides over Xavier’s wrist, and he has to stop again. Latching his mouth to the crease between the perineum and creamy thigh, he briefly considers letting the man cum. No, not yet; he wants to split that wonderful hole open first.

Soon.

He leans away and marvels at the contrast between the man’s pale skin tone and the viciously red color of the mark he just left. In such a place, will the guy feel it as he walks? Will it be a noticeable counterpoint to the soreness of his asshole, or will Xavier succeed in filling the man’s hole with enough intensity to overshadow all other sensations?

God, it’s so, so pretty. Xavier’s face heats as he gives it another worshipful lick. His cock aches and he takes it out; strokes himself slowly. This is so sinful, so arousing. A week ago, he would’ve never guessed he could enjoy eating someone’s ass this much. He delves in again, and it opens for him easily, relaxed and needy. What if — 

Xavier gasps and grips his cock at the root. Heat floods him.

No. That would be — too much.

But the muscles seem heated enough, and there’s plenty of lube inside. Surely…

No.

Whoever this is, he’ll hate Xavier after such a thing. He wants a possibility of a relationship, of having regular access to this ass, and more importantly, he wants to get to know the person behind the wall. Some part of him fears it’s an unrealistic fantasy that will get crushed the moment he sees the other man’s face, but another part — a huge one — is still not jaded enough to stop believing in fantasies. 

No. Because, what if he shares his darkest yearning — this dream he dreams in the safety of his home with a fist clutched around his cock — with this stranger, and the man doesn’t want it, refuses to take it, hates Xavier for trying to force it on him? 

Because it will hurt — and Xavier wants it to hurt; that’s the entire point. He wants the unknown man to go home tonight limping from the brand Xavier’s cock left inside him; for his hole to throb and refuse to close. He wants to come to work on Monday knowing that someone inside this building has trouble sitting on chairs because of him, that his mystery lover feels the echo of Xavier moving inside his sore asshole with every step he takes.

He wants to find out how it feels to forcefully press his huge cock into the impossible tightness of a hole not stretched beforehand.

He’s breathing fast and staring into a tiny gap that will have to get so much wider for him to realize his most secret dream. Then, he leans in; sucks and massages the delicate flesh with his tongue, probing at the muscles to judge how tense they are. The outer ring is pliant and lax, but then there’s a deeper resistance, a promise of pain, of things forbidden.

Oh God, the guy will surely hate him this time. If he doesn’t run away before Xavier’s cock is even _in_.

He stands up and hesitates.

The last thing he wants is to _hurt_ this man.

The ass is so vulnerable like this, so completely defenseless, a generous offering on an altar of Xavier’s lust. He wants it to suffer for him, but failing to honor the man’s sacrifice and please him would be a sacrilege. There has to be a balance here, and Xavier desperately fears screwing it up.

He makes a concession and probes the hole with two fingers; the fit is tight, but they sink easily into the constricting, slippery heat. The man’s buttocks tense then relax, and goosebumps cover the skin around his tailbone; he wants it, wants Xavier. There’s lots and lots of lube inside, like the guy squeezed in an entire bottle.

Right. He _expects_ Xavier to forgo prep.

And he’s here.

Fuck.

Xavier’s cheeks and groin burn; a metallic smell fills his nose, like a blood vessel burst there. In a trance, he pumps his fingers a few times, to replace the lube he licked off, then slicks his own cock with it. He touches his glans to the plump lips, forces them to kiss him, but gives the guy time to back off, to signal somehow he doesn’t want it, that this is too much. Instead, the foam creaks against the plaster as the ass strains towards him. God. The plush wet flesh hugs his glans and his knees shake. There’s a firm resistance just below; he swallows hard and presses into it, slowly.

It refuses to yield. 

This is. Fuck.

With one hand, he leans on the wall while he grips his cock with the other, just below the tip. Presses. There’s a promise of an opening in the center, a narrow tunnel of least resistance; he aims there. Presses. Presses. The palms of his hands are sweaty, his grip on his lubed cock unsteady, and he has to adjust it a few times, but he keeps going.

The ring of muscles he’s trying to violate isn’t a static object, it belongs to a person, and that person wants to let him in. The tiny pulses dilating the entrance as the man strains to push back against Xavier’s cock, to open up for it, then more violent contractions as his own body fights him — Xavier experiences them so viscerally and with such narrow focus that he doesn’t even realize he has closed his eyes.

He doesn’t pop as much as squeezes in, and then not only is his cock’s shape forever altered but also all the shapes inside him. A continuous whine is coming from behind the wall, but the ass is not running away from the powerful sensations that must be wreaking havoc inside it. Xavier’s lungs burn, and his eyes burn, and he watches a drop of liquid land on his lover’s creamy skin that may or may not be Xavier’s sweat.

With a shaking hand, he strokes the smooth buttock, then slowly forces more of himself inside. It’s almost easy now, in comparison. The abundance of lube helps. His cock hurts with the most beautiful pain. He goes in, in, squeezes himself through the narrow tube of pleasure-ache. He can’t even begin to imagine what it feels like to receive this. The hole around him is desperately trying to relax and failing. Xavier reaches below, and God, still hard like stone sheathed in silk. He rewards the man with slow strokes, filled to bursting with relief and gratitude. The vise of flesh tightens, and it feels so good it’s agonizing. On their own accord, Xavier’s hips surge back, then forth. There’s a scream; the man’s cock spurts hot cum into his hand, and the ass seizes him so hard it stills his hips. He doesn’t have enough air in his lungs to moan.

How can you love someone you’ve never even really met?

The arrhythmic spasms around his cock slowly cease while the muscles that grip him loosen. His blood rushes to fill every hint of space there, in a relief that isn’t really a relief. The man’s hole clings to Xavier still — impossibly so — but now he can finally move. And Xavier does, in long, measured thrusts, seeking depth and the pinnacle of his own pleasure.

He finds his lover’s prostate, instead.

It’s a revelation. Makes the ass quake with oversensitivity. Xavier reaches for the man’s cock. It’s still half-hard, and Xavier — smiles.

It’s not a nice smile, but it’s okay, no one is around to see it. 

The last time, when he played with this cock, he noticed how responsive it got every time he teased the tip. Now, he capitalizes on this knowledge, rubs under the glans with his fingertips, pushes at the slit, makes a ring of his fingers, and squeezes the spongy tip through it back and forth. At the same time, he angles his cock down — supports himself on the wall — and bores at that spot in small surges. The ass squirms in the hole — the foam that pads it squeaking — as the man tries to avoid the brutal overstimulation, but he doesn’t back away. His ass is still there, and he takes it, and takes it — until his cock gets thick with hot blood. Xavier is only satisfied when it dances in the palm of his hand again.

Good. So good for him. Time to give this wonder of a man his reward.

This time, when Xavier probes for depth, he finds it — he remembers the angle from their previous fuck, and follows the bend of the slippery tunnel in one glorious slide. The sound that reaches him from the other room is positively wanton. There’s no point to look for familiar tones in it; it’s barely human, and Xavier could talk for hours with this man and never be able to identify him in a situation that doesn’t involve having a cock balls deep in his asshole. But he doesn’t think of that now — he doesn’t think of anything. Aching heat pools in his belly, and he needs to share that ache.

The tightness is still unbelievable, but his cock slides through it easily, from tip to root, from root to tip. He fucks it, fucks it, fucks it, with abandon and growling satisfaction of a conqueror. His, his, his. He gropes the firm buttocks, wedges his fingers into the narrow creases between stomach and thigh, so running away is no longer possible, and pounds into the man’s hole, bruises it, marks it as his. The man is going to feel this for hours, days even. Xavier is leaving an imprint inside him that will be impossible to ignore. He may clean out Xavier’s cum — although Xavier intends to make that difficult by cumming as deep as physically possible — but he won’t be able to get rid of the memory Xavier’s cock engraved into the vulnerable flesh of his hole. Xavier wants the pain-pleasure of this impossible night to stay within his lover forever, so even if Xavier never finds out who the mystery man is, or if this never happens again, there will be an unremovable, unbearable trace of Xavier’s existence left branded inside this person.

The rest of the world is lost to him, and time no longer exists as he rides the narrow tunnel. It’s so wet his cock slides through it fast, with almost no friction, but his glans and shaft still have to fight for every bit of space, and the pressure is insane. That pressure, it pools in Xavier’s balls and belly and narrows his vision. So fucking tight. So deep. It’s almost sad he’s about to cum, he wants to do this forever. Hot. Tight. So good.

He slows down to hold off the inevitable. This generous hole deserves to be used well. So, on legs slightly spread for better balance, he pulls his cock all the way out — feels his glans slip from the inner ring of muscles — then slams in. There’s a scream, and the hole cramps on him; it doesn’t want to give up his cock when he starts to pull out again. The barely audible, dirty shlick of it is the most obscene sound he’s heard in his life. He rams in again, then slowly, carefully, wrenches out. In. Pulling, pulling, pulling, through the sphincter. In.

He’s going to work every muscle in that ass, every nerve.

Out — inch by inch.

In.

The buttocks under his palms are wet; pearls of sweat dribble down the crack. He can hear moans and what sounds suspiciously like sobbing. Fuck. He's made the man cry. With all the strength he can gather, he thrusts in, all the way, to the root. The hole clams on him. Yesss. So good. It’s so hot inside it — inside him; the boundaries of his own body blur, and he can no longer tell where his own skin ends and the other man’s flesh begins.

Then the hole collapses in on itself all around him, and the awareness that he’s _fucking someone_ spikes in him, balloons, and shatters. His hips surge forward and shove his cock through the suddenly rigid pressure; in, in, till his balls are squashed between their bodies, and everything in his pelvis contracts and spasms. His spine is numb and his cock pulses, pulses, pulses. His vision swims, and he almost blacks out, it’s so intense, the sensation of the boiling cum surging down his cock so unbelievably distinct. Even when it’s over, his groin still tingles pleasantly, and he slides through the wet hole until he starts to soften and it’s too much.

He leans on the wall, exhausted, and strokes and pats the man’s sweaty skin. He dips his thumb in the puffy asshole, digs it into the pliant muscles. They must be really sore because the ass backs away into the wall a bit. Good. He strokes under the buttocks; rolls the man’s balls in his hand, and they’re soft and relaxed. As is the dick that hangs above them, dripping. Xavier pets it carefully, so appreciative of the fact it doesn’t have to be touched to cum. That’s the hottest thing ever, that your cock is enough for someone.

What an incredible hole, though, to be able to take so much. Xavier wants to torment it some more. He pushes three of his fingers inside, but then the ass slides off them, and before he can blink, it’s gone. Xavier stares at the empty space for a few heartbeats. Then that damn cabinet blocks it, which wakes him up. He runs to the door.

It doesn’t open. The damn panel flashes red, and it doesn’t fucking open! He’s locked in!

He sweeps his card over the thing a few more times, then kicks the bloody door in frustration.

Fuck.

He goes to the hole in the wall and tries to push the cabinet that blocks it to the side. It rolls away, eventually, but the room behind it is dark and empty. Theoretically, he could get out this way, but he would have to widen the hole somehow to fit through. There are some tools around, but…

He goes back to the door and tries his card one more time. No luck.

Come to think of it, why is there even a panel _inside_ this bloody room?

Damn. That’s some next-level planning. He clearly underestimated the guy. He paces back and forth and thinks. Is he going to be stuck here? He _could_ break through that wall, and he doesn’t recall seeing a panel inside the other room. But no, he should wait before employing drastic measures. Xavier doesn’t believe the other man is malicious, and he seems far too careful to leave Xavier imprisoned like this. After all, someone could find him and ask uncomfortable questions. So he should just wait.

The door clicks open ten minutes later, just as he predicted. Xavier doesn’t go looking for the guy, it’s obvious he’s gone, otherwise, he wouldn’t have let Xavier out. But fuck, the mystery man’s game is top-notch, and for a moment Xavier wonders if he should get involved with someone who can make emails disappear and remotely lock doors like this. On the other hand, he’s damn impressed, and he understands the man’s motivation. After all, before he discovered the door was locked, Xavier had every intention of chasing the guy down. 

Well, there’s nothing he can do for now but go home. He has the weekend to relax — and rub his cock raw to the memories — and come Monday, he’ll investigate. Because while the whole locked door situation is scary, it is also a major clue. And Xavier will not give up on that incredible man.

Not after tonight.


End file.
